a collection of kisses
by Gabby D
Summary: The many kisses Daryl and Paul shared, one way or another, throughout different timelines. [Desus]
1. Post Break-Up Kiss

The kiss wasn't supposed to happen.

They'd been avoiding each other for weeks now, never speaking directly and barely even looking at each other, both too proud to face one another while still licking their own wounds. Well, Paul had actually tried, once, to try and talk it out with him, but Daryl had left the room so fast you'd swear there were walkers chasing him out of there.

So yeah, consider the hint taken.

He didn't try again.

And to think Paul had actually thought this was his it, that he and Daryl really could make it work between them and just be… _something_ together. Happy, maybe. But nevermind what he'd thought now, since clearly he'd been wrong. They never meant shit.

Paul doesn't remember when exactly did it start— way before any of them acknowledged it, that's for sure, and maybe even from the very first time they locked eyes— but as the War went along and came closer to an end, it somehow became natural for the two of them to seek each other and spend more and more time together, talking about nothing and everything under the night sky sharing a bottle of whatever liquor they manage to swipe. It was good, it felt _right,_ and so Paul let the other in just like he had done with Maggie not long before.

Of course, it wasn't exactly the same thing.

It was one of those nights that it happened the first time; Paul had been in the middle of a speech, something about the human nature and condition and his thoughts on it, before suddenly there were lips on his as Daryl interrupted him with a kiss.

Perhaps he should've been surprised— and he was, for a total of maybe two seconds before he returned the kiss— but just like with their friendship everything about it just felt logical at the time, like the obvious next step. Daryl's tongue tasted like hard whiskey and cigarettes and in anyone else he would feel grossed out but with Daryl it was just intoxicating.

And so of course he kept coming back for more.

Even though he'd made the first move, Daryl was still hesitant at first; borderlining on shy and sweet really, words Paul would never think to associate with the hunter and yet still couldn't be more true. So slowly, gently, he peeled away worry after worry, wall after wall, until they were laid bare in front of each other, open and vulnerable, and moved together as one.

Their night watches together became something else, something more, as they now traded kisses too under the sky. At day they would smile and they would banter together, flirting in their own little way, and Paul's fear of getting too close was forgotten and abandoned.

Until he mentioned telling Maggie about them— maybe even moving in together, officially, since most nights they would end up in Paul's trailer bed one way or another— and Daryl simply shut down on him, pacing restlessly and looking at Paul as if he'd grown a second head, as if he had no idea where any of it was coming from and was appalled.

And Paul… Paul knew that look. It was the same he used to wear whenever one of his past lovers would bring up getting serious.

Call it karma if you will, he doesn't care, all he knows is that it hurt like a bitch and so Paul all but hit all breaks and dropped it, hoping they'd go back to normal and maybe he'd be able to salvage it. Except after that Daryl started avoiding him like the plague, refusing to even look at him, and call him proud but Paul didn't exactly react well to it to being rejected so strongly.

And so it went; the two of them barely speaking when once they'd be glued to the hips, with only the memories of all the nights spent together as proof of what almost was, heart wistful but already defeated. Until.

Until now.

The kiss wasn't supposed to happen. He never expected it to.

Almost as if by irony, it was night when it happened. Paul had been tucked away in his trailer for the night, lost in one of his many books, when there was a knock on his door and suddenly Daryl was there, staring at him with an unreadable look in his eyes and the scout was barely able to let out a surprised "Daryl, what—?" before a kiss catches him off guard.

It's humiliating to admit but Paul melts into it, accepting the kiss without seconds thoughts and not even once thinking about refusing the other. God, he's missed it, he's missed _Daryl,_ so much he can barely put into words.

The man tastes the same he did their first time together, and the frantic kiss says what neither had the courage voice out loud yet. It says _I'm sorry,_ it says _I miss you_ and begs _please love me again_ all at once in the same breath; desperate hands feeling each other's faces and bodies without once breaking the kiss as if to make sure they remember it right, and Paul doesn't know if the tears are his or Daryl's.

He doesn't know how long they spend there either, just lost in each other's embrace, until their mouths are swollen and exhaustion creeps in, and only then Paul notices they never closed the door in the first place.

And maybe that should mean something, somewhere in the corner of his mind he can sense a metaphor there, but currently all he can think of is how Daryl came back and is just there, with him, again. _He came back, he came back, he came back._

No one ever did before.

They stare into each other's eyes for a while— both so full of adoration and longing— trying to ensure they were on the same page and it wasn't just wishful thinking clouding their minds. But they are, fuck, they are. And it's not long before Daryl opens his mouth to ask:

"Can I still move in with you?"

And Paul laughs.


	2. Early Morning Kiss

They have a routine together, the both of them.

It didn't always exist, instead it slowly started to come together and take form from the moment he moved in with Paul, hoping to take their relationship to the next level. He'd been self-conscious then, still not sure he was doing the right thing even with all the support from his family, yet still doing what felt right and natural for the both of them. What he wanted, regardless of fear.

And what he wanted was to be closer to the man that sneaked into his heart and found home there.

And so their life together started.

Daryl's always considered himself an early riser, but damn if Paul doesn't manage to beat him by hours in the days where they both get to sleep at the same time. Or even in days they don't, really. He always seems to know exactly when to wake up, and those days Paul will always get up before him without a fault; he will take a shower, do some of his daily training exercises in the cramped kitchen they both share, and then make them both some coffee to start the day and the heavenly smell will wake up Daryl from his slumber before the other can.

Some days Paul hasn't gone to bed yet, either because of a run or a watch or one of his usual bouts of insomnia, and instead he forgets all about that and crawls lazily into bed as they ignore the rest of the world and sleep in for as long as they can before someone in Hilltop needs one of them, just holding each other and enjoying their laziness together. Others, one has a run to go— if not both of them— and so Daryl's woken up with kisses and the sound of laughter; happiness flooding his heart with warmth before he's even completely conscious. Those mornings are perfect, reminding them what they're fighting for and what's awaiting at home.

But one way or another Paul is always up before him, even days where Daryl does his best to wake up first; and the little shit knows it too, always teasing him with a "Good morning love, maybe next time" and that damned smile that both infuriates him and makes him melt.

Except.

Except today Daryl woke up to the other still completely out, snoring softly like he always does when he's deep in his sleep, and the hunter would be worried if he didn't remember they both drank heavily the night before for the first time ever since they'd started living together.

He chuckles to himself, completely enamoured with the image of his boyfriend— fuckin' _boyfriend_ ; Daryl Dixon has a boyfriend now, he had never seen it coming, not in a billion years— so peaceful in his sleep and with bed hair so messy it's sticking everywhere. Daryl pulls a lock of light brown hair out of Paul's mouth, softly, making the other scrunch his nose but not wake up.

Daryl never thought he'd find a grown ass man adorable before, yet here they are. Paul lived to prove him wrong.

Ever since he'd first moved in and their routine started, maybe even before then, Daryl always tried to imagine what it would be like to wake up the other man. Maybe he'd throw a granola bar at his face all smug for finally waking up first, before giving him a good morning and calling him a lazy ass. Or maybe he'd pull him by the feet, or hit him with a pillow, only to get that deer in the headlights look from Paul that he loves so much and laugh.

But now that he's here and it finally happened, he wants none of that.

Oh sure, it'd likely be just as satisfying as he always imagined it to be, and the other would laugh too with him after realizing what had happened. But just the thought of interrupting such a serene scene like that seems _wrong,_ somehow. He doesn't want to do it.

And so instead he leans down and drops one single kiss in the corner of Paul's mouth, less of a peck and more of a soft wake up call.

"G'morning," Daryl whispers against his cheek.

Paul hums interested but still he doesn't open his eyes. He turns to Daryl, movements still slow with sleepiness, and gives him a quick peck that's off its destined target by a lot and instead hits his chin with a lazy smile on his face, looking so incredibly happy and at peace that Daryl can't help but but give him a second kiss and then one more, caressing Paul's cheek ever so fondly.

It takes Paul a second or two to blink himself awake and fully gain consciousness, and Daryl just watches as the other settles himself on his elbows groaning as he did it. Paul looks around the room, as if only now taking in the situation.

"Morning, love," he answers him, rubbing his eyes still so clearly tired. "You were up before me?"

Their breaths smell something awful with the booze and morning breath, but none of them seem to care as they just smile softly at each other and enjoy the early morning haze together, neither wanting to move away.

"What, is that so hard to believe now?" Daryl asks, his voice soft despite his words. "'Sides, the whiskey knocked ya out good. Lightweight."

Paul laughs at the memory, sleepily. "Mhmm. Just because I can't drink like you do doesn't make me a lightweight, you know. At least I get buzzed first," comes the reply, joy clear even though he's clearly feeling the night before. "How is it that you never get hungover? That's so unfair," Paul whines as he nuzzles the hunter's neck.

Daryl snorts.

"I do, 'm just not a baby about it like some," he teases, making Paul gasp mock-offense.

The effect is ruined, however, by the small pecks he's leaving on Daryl's skin. "You implying something, Dixon?"

"Maybe," Daryl replies, still smiling. "C'mon, get up. I'll make you something for that nasty hangover."

"But I don't want to, I'm so comfortable right now," he says against his skin, his breath and beard tickling Daryl's neck ever so lightly— not that he'd ever admit to being ticklish in the first place. "Can't we just cuddle and sleep it off?"

Christ, Daryl can't believe this is his life now.

"Nah. You'd lose the famous redneck recipe against hangover then, we can't have that. I know how to make it just like Merle used to." Daryl gives him a quick kiss before getting up, grabbing him by the hands and pulling Paul with him even as the other complained. "C'mon, it's awful. It tastes like ass."

"Ugh. That makes me want to get up even less now," Paul argues. "You're terrible at this."

"What, I thought you liked ass?"

Daryl lets out a huff of laughter at his own joke even as Paul sputters ultraged and hits him with a pillow.

" _You're_ an ass."

"Yep," he agrees with a smug smile, making Paul chuckle too against his own wish. "And you love me anyways."

There's a twinkle of joy in Paul's big blue eyes at his words, and maybe if Daryl's mind hadn't been so clouded with its own little mixture of sleep and happiness he'd realize that it's the first time he's felt comfortable enough to joke about it out loud. They've said the word before, sure, but most of the time Daryl's to understand _why_ the other loves him back; always so stuck in his own insecurity and self-loathing that he couldn't help but doubt.

"Mm, true," Paul says with a bright smile. "That I do."

They stare at each other, a look so utterly satisfied and fond that it makes Daryl's heart do an humiliating dance in his chest that he'll never admit even under torture, and share one last good morning kiss.

"Come one now, show me the promised oh-so-famous Dixon family recipe. You made me curious."


	3. In The Moment Kiss

"No," Jesus' voice cut through the room at his suggestion without a hint of hesitation, and his tone is as calm as it is dismissive.

And Daryl might've not been keen on the plan himself but he knows he can do it, he _knows_ it. Even with his still healing knee and busted shoulder— and why is it always his shoulder anyway? Daryl's getting sick and tired of it already— he's still the best tracker of all the communities and one of the best fighters they have. He can handle a couple of rogue Saviours without a problem, there's no need to risk more people that should be otherwise focusing on more important and deeply needed shit, and so that's why he suggested himself for the job in the first place to track them down on his own.

But having it just brushed off like that, right off the bat without thinking twice about it, pisses him off more than anything else and before he knows it Daryl already has his hands holding into a tight fist as anger floods through him.

"What?"

Jesus looks up at him, dead in the eye. "You're still healing, and they might be in a larger group than we think," he points out as if it was obvious in a tired voice, and though his tone didn't seem cruel it still got to Daryl anyway. "It's not worth the risk."

"I agree," says Rosita from where she's looking at the map. "We still don't know enough."

Maggie nods at her advisor, considering it, and even the sight of her rocking baby Gracie in her hands doesn't diminish the authority and strength emanating from her as they all plan on taking out an enemy. Daryl can't help but be reminded of Rick— a baby in one hand and a gun in another, yet still looking just as dangerous. Natural leaders.

The man himself sits back in a corner, looking deep in thoughts. He hasn't been the same since they all almost lost Carl and the War ended.

But Daryl ignores all of that, focusing instead on the scout that still has his eyes locked on his.

"What, you think I can't do it?" he asks him.

"I know you're capable, Daryl. I've seen you fight," reminds him Jesus, ever the diplomat, picking his words deliberately as he speaks. _"I've fought by your side,"_ he says with more strength."But this? It's just suicidal. I won't help you get yourself killed."

"So you don't think I can do it."

Jesus shakes his head. "No. I don't think you should do it, that's different. It wouldn't do any good."

"We can't spare people for it," Daryl argues stubborn, ignoring his answer. "We need scavengers out, and all the help we can get to build the communities back up again. I can do it, I can take out those assholes by myself."

"You're still healing—"

He scoffs. "I'm _fine_."

"What if you go and instead there's the double of Saviours, what then?" questions Jesus in a harsh tone. "It's too big of a risk."

Worst part is, it's not that Jesus is wrong. He's not.

Daryl knows it's not a good plan; hell, he wouldn't even kick up a fuss if it'd been someone else pointing it out, and he certainly would argue if it was another in his place suggesting it. But something about _Jesus_ dismissing him so readily, about him not thinking him capable of getting the job done, makes his mind cloud with anger and hurt and so he argues.

"You don't know that—"

"Daryl, you can barely handle the kick of your own bow right now—!"

"— Bullshit, I can do it!"

Someone interrupts in the background: "You two…"

"We've made that mistake before, Daryl," Jesus says, paying Gabriel no mind as they stare at each other still, and it's clear he's gotten the scout riled up. " _I've_ made that mistake before. Let's not repeat it, shall we? We all remember the cost."

Maggie looks up sharply, though her eyes are kind. "That was not on you," she tells him. "You didn't know."

"No," he agrees. "It was on Negan, and he's dead now. I know that. But we can't repeat it. We didn't know enough then, and we don't know enough now. We can't keep doing the same thing over and over again and expect different results."

"He's right," says Rosita. "We gotta think this through."

Jesus looks at him again. "You going alone and wounded won't help, it'll only make things worse. What if you get killed?"

 _Better me than someone else,_ Daryl doesn't say out loud. He knows it won't help his case here, only make it worse for him. Neither his family nor Jesus would agree with him. So instead he just scoffs and looks at the ground irritated, refusing to maintain eye contact with the prick as both frustration and a pinch of guilt hits him.

He's being unfair and making this harder than it has to be, he knows that, but the worst part is that he doesn't even know _why._

"Jesus has a point on this one, brother," Rick points out, and Daryl in his anger hadn't even noticed him get up until there was a hand on his shoulder and a body by his side. "We can't afford to lose you too. We need you here… _I_ need you."

And just like that his anger deflates and is replaced entirely by guilt. Shit, now he's gone and made Rick sad again too.

Daryl shifts, uncomfortable with the sincerity of his brother's words and all the attention on him. He lets the hand stay on his shoulder for a couple more seconds, just to let the other know he's heard him and understands, before he shrugs it off with a nod— he's not looking him in the eyes, but it's sincere. He won't do it to him, to any of them.

"Yeah, alright," he agrees so softly Rick barely even hears it, though he understands it all the same and gives Daryl a small smile.

They've all lost too much of their family already.

"Well now that's finally over with, can we please continue with the meeting now?" Jesus asked with a clap, his tone forcibly casual though there was some strain there. Some bite. "I'd like for us to at least agree on a plan before it's over. An actual plan."

Doesn't mean he will just take Jesus' shit, though. Nah, no way in hell.

Daryl looks up in a snap, and he hears someone else let out a small "Oh, shit!" as he crosses the room in a second and gets on Jesus' face— almost in a dare, fuming with rage as the comment riles him up all over again. He can feel Rick trying to grab for him but he pulls his arm away before he's able to, not wanting to be stopped.

"What's your problem anyway?!"

Jesus holds the eye contact though; his head high and staring right back at him.

"Excuse me?" he says, not looking the slightest intimidated by a pissed off Daryl looming over him, and in that exact moment Daryl is reminded that the other can kick his ass without breaking a sweat. Shit.

A tiny voice in his head tells him to stop and let it go, to forget it, but Daryl's never been good with listening to that voice anyway.

"You heard me."

Jesus scoffs. "You want to know my problem is, Daryl? Really?" he asks, and suddenly Daryl realizes the scout's not nearly as unaffected as he appears; his words are dry and sarcastic yet they sound just as enraged as Daryl's hostiles ones. "My problem?!" Jesus repeated and yep, he pissed him off.

He's never seen the man lose his shit before.

"My problem is you wanting to sacrifice yourself every three seconds with some dumb half-assed plan, that's my problem," came the angry answer. "My problem is you getting so focused on blaming yourself for every single thing that goes wrong that you forget that there's people that care about you! People that want you happy and _alive!_ "

There's a hand on Jesus' shoulder now, and he can hear Rick behind him telling them to stop it at the same time a feminine voice by their left curses them, but neither pays it any mind as they continue to stare at each other with narrowed eyes.

"How about that, huh? Is that answer enough?" asks Jesus with a sneer. "My problem is _you_ , Daryl.You impulsive, selfless—!"

"Jesus!" Maggie shouts, interrupting whatever the man was going to say next, but Daryl just keeps going— too angry to even consider stopping now, ready to shout words he doesn't mean just for the sake of his anger.

"Why do you even give a shit?!"

"How can you even ask me that?!" the other counters.

And there's something about an angry Jesus though that makes him pause for a second.

Even when you know what he's capable of, even after seeing him fight, it's easy to underestimate Jesus. To take his calmness for granted, to think you've seen it all. Now though… now he looks _dangerous._ Without any of his bullshit zen act or the infuriating mischievous smirks, with his face serious and completely fucking pissed off, no pretense in his voice.

He looks beautiful.

The sight makes something else entirely warm over Daryl, something so different from anger yet just as hot and intense. Something that isn't new, not really, but that he simply always avoided admitting even to himself. Though maybe that was always inevitable.

But maybe Daryl hesitated for too long, because it makes the other stop too. He looks at Daryl, seeming to search for something in his face before his eyes end up focusing on his lips, anger slowly leaving him. Jesus absently licks his own lips before looking up again, their eyes locking together. Oh.

 _Oh._

He's not sure who actually started the kiss, except one second they were staring at each other not sure how to proceed and the next both had leaned in until their mouths smashed together in an intense kiss, a hint of violence in it. There are hands on his vest pulling him down, mindful of his hurt shoulder, and without thinking about it Daryl repays by sticking one of his own through the other's hair, almost desperate. Nothing in his mind except how _right_ it all feels, too good to stop.

When they break apart— too soon, far too soon for any of them to think it was enough— there's a determined look in Jesus' eyes.

"Of course I care," he ends up saying after a few seconds of stunned silence, startling Daryl with how out of breath he sounds. _I caused that,_ he thinks, with something akin of pride warming his chest. "How can you even ask me that? Of course I do."

It takes Daryl a moment to remember what Jesus was talking about, and when he does all he can manage to say is:

"Oh."

Which, is a great answer. Smart. Quite profound, really.

 _Fuckin' dumbass._

"I thought you knew," Jesus continues, as if Daryl wasn't gaping at him like an idiotic fish just now, though he does seems a little amused at it. Prick. "That's why it hurts me when you keep treating yourself like nothing. I thought you knew that I…"

Daryl shakes his head, softly. "I didn't."

And it's true, he had no idea. Not about Jesus' part in it. They'd become close after the war, but Daryl never dared to think Jesus would look twice at him— that Jesus would _care._ Not that deeply, and not just because he's part of their little misfit family now.

"I didn't know," he repeats, still trying to wrap his head around it. "'M sorry."

"But you…?"

"Yeah." There's a hand against his now, still barely touching as if afraid to overstep somehow. Daryl turns his around until they're clasped firmly together, saying through actions what he can't do with words. Not yet, anyway. "Yeah, I do."

Jesus smiles happily, as if that's the best thing he's ever heard.

"Good."

Someone next to them cleans their throat, making both jump startled. Daryl looks around, facing heating up as he remembers that they are not, in fact, alone in the room— Maggie has a knowing smile, staring at them proudly, while Rick seems more amused than anything. Tara's eyes are so wild they look about to pop at any second, and the rest of the room isn't too different with some few exceptions.

"Well, so that just happened," Tara ends up saying, probably trying to break the awkward mood but only making it worse, as usual with her. It seems to at least pull the rest out of their shocked state, though Daryl's not so sure that's a good thing. "Can't say I saw it coming."

Behind her, Michonne sighs and gives Carol a small package of mints, who only smiles smugly.

"Speak for yourself."

"Ugh, screw y'all," Daryl grumbles, hiding his face away with his hands. And if there's a small smile threatening to show, well, that's not anyone's business but his own. "I hate all of you."

Jesus just laughs, though the tips of his ears are bright red too.

"That's great and all, I'm happy for you two tontos, but we have Saviours to kill so can we please go back to it?"

See, Daryl knew there was a reason why he likes Rosita so much. He nods, almost desperate for the attention to leave him, and slowly they all get back to work. Though it doesn't stop the looks his family keeps throwing at them, nor the chuckles.

Goddammit, they'll never let him forget it, will they?


End file.
